


Public Enemy

by MagiraMayuya



Series: Getting from Inferno to Paradiso [2]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst and Feels, DMC Novels, DMC4, Gen, Memory Loss, Power comes with a price, sacrifices are made
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28976334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagiraMayuya/pseuds/MagiraMayuya
Summary: A year after Patricia Katherine Lowell-Redgrave is adopted into the Redgrave family, Jeanne and Nero both have a vision of Vergil. Unable to see Nero in her dreams anymore, Jeanne becomes panicked and afraid for what is happening on Fortuna, and volunteers for a two-month contract on the goings-on there with Trish for the Hunter Guilds.It is, after all a matter of family.
Relationships: Credo & Kyrie (Devil May Cry), Credo & Nero (Devil May Cry), Dante & Lady (Devil May Cry), Dante & Lucia (Devil May Cry), Dante & Nero (Devil May Cry), Dante & Patty Lowell, Dante & Trish (Devil May Cry), Dante (Devil May Cry) & Original Character(s), Kyrie & Nero (Devil May Cry), Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry), Lady & Trish (Devil May Cry), Patty Lowell & Nero
Series: Getting from Inferno to Paradiso [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015551
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. Premonition

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2!! Wahoo, this is exciting everyone. Hold onto your seats, this one will be a...wild ride. As always, please critique me! I love to improve.

“You want to save his life, do you not?” 

Jeanne stayed silent, focusing only on the man in her arms as he laid in the water. She cradled his shoulders and head against her torso, concentrating all her holy power into banishing the demon that clung to his soul.

“Little one, you cannot do this without more power!”

“I KNOW! I know…” Jeanne sobbed, her tears falling onto the man’s face, his cheeks and eyes tensing and creasing as he fought with the feverish feeling beneath his skin.

“Then do you accept?” Asked the Right Hand, as he offered Jeanne her Celestia. 

“I....accept.” 

The Right Hand placed the Celestia on top of Jeanne’s head, its golden band growing six sharp claws, that sunk into her skin.

And she watched her life flash before her eyes.

\---------------

It was an ordinary Tuesday, just a week after Dante’s birthday and the return of school for the girls. Patty was wearing an oversized black hoodie with golden lightning embroidered around her hands and the hem of the jumper, with grey jeans and a pair of hiking boots, her short hair slightly gelled. Jeanne meanwhile, wore a rather plain violet sundress over a white long-sleeved collared shirt, with her normal tan boots and white hair pinned up in a spiraling braid. Patty’s softer blue eyes were flicking between golden and their normal hue, an indication that she was communicating with Abigail. 

And then some guy threw a football right towards Patty and Jeanne, and despite her speed and training, Jeanne missed deflecting it. It landed squarely in Patty’s stomach, and she winced, her eyes flashing a solid yellow for a few seconds, before disappearing.

“You gonna dance for us yet? Or has Candy not been teaching you?” The nameless boy taunted. He was some variant of the money child, good at sport and middling at academics, but too rich to touch for Patty and Jeanne. 

“I would,” Patty spat, squaring up her shoulders to reveal her fuller height, “but that would be beastiality, and I _hate_ animal abuse.” 

In the short time that Abigail had possessed Patty, her body had undergone some changes, such as her now almost amazonian height, rivaling Jeanne, and intimidating most of the boys. She hid it well under poor posture and baggy clothes, and it wasn’t until her chilling stare was upon a victim that they began to cower. The final bell for classes rang, and Jeanne peeled away from Patty, the younger girl brushing past the stunned, silent footballers. 

\-------

“I _should have_ broken his arm. No, his femur!” Patty roared, revving Chainblader in her hands, charging towards Jeanne.

“We promised father to not hurt humans.” Jeanne replied smoothly, as she used her wings to avoid her sister’s strike, retaliating with a strong wind spell from Thistle, causing the girl to fly into the trees behind them. With another roar of her blades engines, she returned at top speed to the impromptu arena, Patty using her upper body strength to hold herself up as she used the ends of Chainblader like wheels in the dirt, chewing up the ground to propel forwards. Jeanne parried again, this time using Nevan’s bats to shock the chainsaw-like weapons into stopping, which made Patty tumble with a yelp.

Panting, defeated, Patty reconnected Chainblader at their hilts to form a boomerang shape, and the weapon vanished, becoming what Jeanne would know as the snaking tattoo that covered her sister’s chest and upper back in a V shape. It had been the first demon her sister had killed, in a gloriously bloody first assignment. Lady had come into the shop complaining of a Hellhound type demon giving her grief, and Patty had been volunteered by Dante and Jeanne. Lady had enlightened them of the battle that Patty had fought, and out the other side she now had a pair of blades made from demon bones that could tear through most material effortlessly. 

“I hate it when you remind me of the moral code,” Patty rubbed her eyes, yawning in unison with Jeanne, “ _I’m_ **human**! I should be allowed to hurt other humans.”

“Technically, you’re not,” Jeanne flexed her four wings in preparation for the flight home, their golden cap feathers shining in the setting sun, “You’re two souls in one body. At least one of _you_ is a demon.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Patty waved dismissively, summoning her own wings, dragon like and bronze, “And if I let Abigail get too much control, bad things happen. I remember.” 

They flew home in relative silence, only the sounds of their wings beating against the southerly wind. Patty indicated to the Tower Park, as Jeanne had learned, and the pair landed. Up the street, directly in their sight was Devil May Cry, their home, and around them were a few scattered vendors. Patty and Jeanne walked to the crepe stand, ordering one coconut and chocolate, and a strawberry cheesecake crepe. 

“I am sorry, Patricia,” Jeanne placed her left hand onto her sister’s right shoulder, “I didn’t think properly when I-”

“Don’t,” Patty warned, “It happened. I’m here now, and I’ll **still** be here tomorrow.” Patty received her strawberry cheesecake pastry, and hastened on to the shop, eating slowly, enjoying the cream cheese and custard flavours against the tangy berry. 

The shop was more or less the same as before Patty had moved in. One of the few new additions, as per Patty’s birthday wishes, was a new TV installed near the couches by the stairs, as well as the increased number of instruments. While Dante’s personal bass, guitar and kit were still present, Nevan had become a permanent fixture on the main floor of the shop, and an old piano took up the back corner where the oldest and worst couch had been removed from, to make room for the jukebox and speakers. The rest of the living space was much the same, even the bright pink walls of Patty and Jeanne’s shared room. Despite the subtle ways Abigail influenced Patty, her love for pink things and sweets forever shone through, and it laid to rest Jeanne’s concerns of losing the girl to the demon.

The front door opened again, Dante walking in with his casual swagger. He’d recently acquired a new outfit, much to Patty, Lady and Trish’s chagrins, cowboy style boots, black pants and shirt, three buckles attaching all his holsters and a red, flaring coat to complete the look. Jeanne called down the stairs from the kitchen.

“Dinner will be ready soon, father!”

The hunter chuckled to himself, as he took his seat behind his desk, watching Patty’s face scowl at her homework on the low table by the couches.

“What’s the matter? Maths again?”

“No,” Patty sighed, leaning back into the couch, “It’s…” Patty considered her words. The last time she’d mentioned ‘boy trouble’ to Dante, the man had rankled, and worse, Trish had almost threatened her with coming to their school to zap any unwanted attention away from them. It had been Dante’s stern insistence on his rule of no (severe) harm to humans that prevented the demoness from doing anything. 

“Patricia and I were requested to perform to a sexual fantasy.” Jeanne always had a way of wording things bluntly, but eloquently, much more than Patty could have ever hoped to have accomplished. Dante’s previously jovial expression turned darker as he received his meal from his older daughter, hot rice and chicken tagine. 

“Is that right?” The hunter purred, thinking of how best to stage an accident to teach the punks a lesson.

“Dad, it’s not your fault,” Patty interjected, “We just… I don’t know, we’re weird, but attractive? It’s so confusing.” She twirled her spoon around in the hot, aromatic meal before her, retreating to her thoughts.

“You’re part demon,” Dante sighed, “Most demons have a way of looking attractive to people, it’s how they lure in their prey. It’s natural, and there’s no off switch.” Dante ate somberly, it wasn’t too late to cancel Patty’s enrollment, but then what? There was no guarantee she’d always want to be a huntress like Lady, and even she had a college degree.

“I know. It just...sucks.” Patty mumbled between bites.

"Remember this feeling, Patty," Dante walked over to his daughter, brushing his thumbs under her reddened eyes, "Devils can't feel like you do, hold onto that part of your humanity."

 _Or else be lost_ , was the echoed warning. 

\-------

"Nero, are the boys on your island as bad as ours?" Jeanne stared out towards the sea. Nero having moved in the last year to a terrace house that overlooked the port allowed her this unique vantage of the mediterranean architecture of Fortuna.

"I would think so, they're all tripping over themselves to get attention from the girls." Nero's tone had a special sneer to it, a sound it had when he got frustrated on Kyrie's behalf. Some of them must have tried chasing her, then, Jeanne decided. 

There was a shooting star over the waters, its reflection caught in the waves, and then the stars tore apart. A whirling, bloody pool opened in the sky, and a giant, armoured hand crept out of the hole. Jeanne felt something familiar about it, something odd, and Nero was completely transfixed. There was a sinking, sucking feeling, and the world warped at its sides, shrinking the space between Jeanne, Nero and the portal, until they were in its bloody roil.

There was a shriek, like a hundred Hell Vanguards, and a coldness to the portal, as the hand dragged them through, not unlike a wash of rain, and on the other side was the Moonlit Mile, atop the Temen-Ni-Gru. And there, in his eternal coldness, was a man in a blue coat. Jeanne’s stomach fell further, and she reached for Nero, trying to drag him by his shoulders down the pathway that led to this platform, away from the man she knew stood on this monument of death.

But Nero was drawn to the figure, he would of course be drawn to his father, Vergil. Jeanne dreamed of her father’s memory, having seen it a hundred times before. Dante had fought with his brother here, and lost, both a sleeve of his coat and his half of the amulet. Jeanne feared that she didn’t have enough power to stop Vergil, nevermind Nero, she hoped there wouldn’t be an altercation. But the boy was determined, throwing her grasp off his shoulders and making his way to the man, his head turning ever so slightly, allowing Jeanne to see the swept back hair that distinguished him from his twin. 

"NERO!" Jeanne cried, but the figure turned fully. His face was just a dark void, but he reached for the Yamato, drawing its blade and using it to slice between Jeanne and Nero. Jeanne recoiled, the space between her and Nero pushing her away like a tidal wave, and unable to fight its current, she watched on in horror. 

"Come…." Vergil's voice echoed. 

"NERO! STOP!" Jeanne cried in vain, as she fell down the side of the tower, collapsing into the ominous blackness below, it reached up to her like so many tendrils, and it swallowed her whole.


	2. The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although the phone is rarely silent at Devil May Cry, the days it does ring are never boring.

Patty was not a stranger to nightmares. Too often she’d dreamt of her mother dying in her arms in that hotel room, Sid dressed as Abigail lauding over her body, and too many horrors that oozed out of the scene. But it was a first to awaken to her sister sobbing, inconsolable after her dream.

“Jeanne, Jeanne! What happened?” Patty half-mumbled, still partially asleep. Jeanne looked at her with wide, wet eyes, her voice hoarse and lips frozen in a wail. Dante almost ripped the hinges off their door to get to Jeanne’s side, pulling her into a tight hug.

“Dad, I don’t-” 

“It’s okay Patty,” Dante soothed, patting both his daughters’ backs in slow, gentle motions, “Shhhh Genie, we’re here. You okay?” 

After a while, Jeanne’s tears and torment eased, and she was able to speak between raspy breaths and shaky hands.

“I-I was on top of the T-Temen-Ni-Gru and-” she dragged in a breath, “And Vergil was there, except his face-it was all blacked out and...And Nero just walked up to him! I couldn’t stop him, and now I can’t feel him.”

Jeanne had explained her theory on why Nero was able to share her dreams to Dante before. She believed that because Nero was more human than Dante, that his human soul was seeking its family; since Jeanne was divine in nature, and blood related, it gave her the ability to meet his calls much like a Prayer. To have Nero severed from Jeanne must be devastating, since she had bonded rather closely to him, and thanks to that bond, they had a name for Nero’s home - Fortuna.

Despite her father and Patty telling her she didn’t have to, Jeanne went to school the next day with her sister. 

\---------

Over the sea, there is an island called Fortuna, where the Legendary Dark Knight Sparda once ruled as a lord over a small principality. These days it was a theocratic nation-state attached to the east of Italy. On this island, in the early hours of its morning, was a boat coming to the port, carrying various goods from the west, a delegation of soldiers, and a powerful relic.

Reports had come from the group on Dumary island that something of value had finally washed up on shore, and now in tow with Credo, was the shattered pieces of the Yamato. Severed in two, it lay beside its saya, and on the end of the blade attached to the hilt was a sizable chunk missing, jagged and jarring. It had not been a clean split when it had been broken. Credo feared that it may be useless, but the energy radiating from the weapon was strong enough that even he could feel it. Even more than that, there was a quiet sadness to it, as if the tempered steel of the shingane of the blade was mourning a deeper loss than its other half, something vital to its being. After the ship had docked, Credo was the first off, with his lieutenant and the six other soldiers carrying the case for the demonic Oodachi. To greet them, was none other than the scientist Agnus, and His Holiness Sanctus’ main priest, titled Strength. 

“His Holiness would have been at this arrival,” Strength greeted, waving his hands in the traditional prayer symbol, “But he was tired after pouring over the sacred texts. It is a glorious return, Captain Credo.” 

Strength was not an unpleasant man, he had short, orange hair clipped cleanly against his crown, and a full beard tied at its point with a jeweled band. Like Sanctus, he wore the holy robes of the church, without a cowl. Agnus, however, always made Credo uneasy. He had longer, dark hair that he loosely tied behind his head with a single, thick wave falling over his monocled face, and his scientist clothing and thick rubber gloves that squeaked when he rubbed them together made Credo’s back teeth tingle in pain. 

“Yes, yes,” Agnus dismissed, urging the lieutenant to open the top of the wooden box they carried, “Ah, I see it is as beautiful in its ruin as its life.” The scientist commented, beholding the dull, broken blade. He quickly motioned for the box to be closed again and whisked to the laboratory he kept in the castle on the mountain, where Sparda had once lived. The soldiers now departed, Credo remained with Strength to ask after the state of the Order, and his adoptive brother Nero. 

Not far from Credo, Nero was looking down at the docks, through hazy-half awake eyes and a fogginess to his brain, and in his heart and his mind a voice echoed, beckoning him closer to the weapon he knew his brother had brought home. 

He needed it.

It was _his_.

He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but he understood it all the same. Whatever it was that Agnus was taking to the castle wasn’t for the scientist to have, and it drove an irrational irritation beneath Nero’s skin, like a crawling insect, but then he remembered Jeanne begging him not to go to the man in blue.

A tear fell down his face.

Why did he feel so much loss?

\-----------

Dante had gotten a phone call once the girls had left for work that afternoon, from Lucia of all people. 

“Devil May Cry,” Dante answered, surprised by his phone ringing at this time of day.

 _“Dante, it’s me, Lucia.”_ The slightly French accent came through the line, crackling from the distance call, but Dante’s keen hearing made that a non-issue.

“Lucia? What’s going on?” Dante asked, preparing a notepad on the side, in case he needed to leave at a moment’s notice. Lucia’s pleasantly calm voice continued on the other end.

 _“There was a group of strange fellows here, last week they found something on the beach and took it with them,”_ Lucia sucked in a breath, preparing for the fallout, _“And I think it was yours. It smelled like you, but cold, like ice. And it felt...broken.”_

Thoughts and feelings and memories flooded Dante as he heard this description. Icy cold and broken, could it be? The hunter paused for a moment, listening to Lucia call his name, using it as his only anchor to reality as he considered the information at hand.

“Tell me, Lucia,” Dante finally whispered, “When you say they took it with them, what did you see?”

 _“A long box, maybe as tall as me,”_ Lucia reported, _“But that isn’t all. The day before it showed up on the beach, I thought someone opened a gate to Hell, it sure felt like whatever Arius did that time.”_

Yeah, today had really gone to Hell, Dante was sure of it now. He thanked Lucia, and told her he’d come to the island soon to gather whatever clues he could find, possibly also scope out the local demon population. The Yamato had found its way back to the human world, having been gone ever since Vergil had fallen into Hell all those years ago. It was sure to attract all kinds of demons, even if it had left the area. 

And if it was really in a box as tall as Lucia, it had probably reverted to its truer form, the Oodachi his father had once used, rather than his brother’s katana. But who would want that kind of thing? Who was looking for it? These questions brought back images of Arkham, and with them the relationship he shared with Lady. If there was anyone with the kinds of answers, it was probably between her and Morrison. Dante made a note to his daughters on the pad next to the phone, excusing himself for the next two days, grabbed a bag from upstairs and threw into it his weapons, Rebellion, Cerberus and his usual twin pistols. The hunter revved his motorcycle and headed for the airfield on the other side of Capulet.

When Dante had returned from Mallet, he’d brought back a biplane, and unable to store it at his shop, he’d encouraged the other hunters he knew to help him maintain it. While it was signed to the Devil May Cry name, and Dante charged a tiny fee for its use, he was more than happy to lend it out when someone else needed to fly. The airfield itself was small, mostly air mail carriers and personal aircrafts, nothing commercial in sight for miles. Jerry, the first officer of the field, received Dante at the back gate.

“Good afternoon, Tony. Taking ol’ Rosie out for a spin yourself?” Jerry was nearly Dante’s height, but twice as willowy, with spindly limbs and a gaunt face. He wore the usual blue jumpsuit of the airfield, as well as a classic _Capulet Crows_ baseball cap.

“Yeah, gotta make it out to Dumary and back. Won’t be more than 48 hours this time.” Dante waved as Jerry led him and his bike to the appropriate shed.

Rosie, as she was called, had been well restored by Jerry Sunderland. On its nose, a beautiful portrait of a dark-haired lady with rich, olivine skin and bright red and yellow roses all around her hair and uncovered torso. The rest of the plane was an almost-rust colour, with a clean, glossy finish, and tidy, tan leather seats. Jerry patted the side of the plane as Dante climbed in.

“She’ll get you there and back alright! Take care, mister Redgrave!” Jerry called as he opened the doors of the shed further, allowing Dante access to the skies. With a twist of the ignition and a sputter of the engine, Rosie lifted gently into the air.

\---------

“DANTE! I NEED A DRIIIINK!” Lady yelled into the shop foyer, the doors swinging wide as she entered and marched to the couches. Patty was seated at the desk, doing homework, while Jeanne played a tune on the piano that felt suspiciously like it was meant to be an organ solo. 

“Dante is out right now, Lady.” Patty responded flatly, showing her the note the hunter had left, the huntress craning her neck to read it. She groaned and fell further into the couch as Jeanne started another piece.

“Well, sorry to bother you girls but-”

“What do you know about the Order of the Sword?” Jeanne turned to face the huntress, the piano now silent as she abandoned its keys. Her gaze was intense, just like her father’s, sometimes there was a chill that worked its way under Lady’s careful defenses when she was under the scrutiny of the hunter; which his daughter was invoking.

“Well, funny you should say that,” Lady laughed heartlessly, leaning onto her knees with her elbows, “That’s why I’m here. But how do you know them?”

“Nero, that boy I saw in my dreams,” Jeanne explained, Patty also now watching the huntress, “He...disappeared. I know he trains under the Order of the Sword, so what are they up to?”

“Just today, they stole my kill. Completely ruined my job, now I’m out of a paycheck.” Lady deflated, still remembering the incident. They’d descended on the demon she meant to kill with a cage and just carried it off.

“That’s odd.” Jeanne mused, moving from her stool at the piano to pick up Nevan and seat herself at the couches. She strummed a few experimental chords before switching her guitar form for a lyre. 

“It’s not just me either,” Lady huffed, bringing her arms in on herself, “Apparently a good few hunters have been experiencing the same thing. These Order people just show up and take away the demons and artefacts.” 

Their conversation and music was interrupted by Trish turning up at the shop, covered in blood and carrying the Sparda on her back. She gave Lady a raised eyebrow, and the huntress replied with a chuckle.

“Let me guess,” Patty sighed, putting aside her English homework, “You’re also here because the Order ended your hunt?”

“Something like that,” Trish smiled wryly, putting the large sword against the back wall, “But first, let me go wash up. I’ll be right back, princesses.”

While Trish was in the shower, Patty dialed the number for Pizza1, their father’s preferred pizza parlor. Normally Jeanne acted like she had an allergy to anything pizza, but Patty was going to take advantage of her less-than-stellar state to eat something hot, greasy and delicious. Having been turned into a part demon, she could appreciate why Dante loved the meal so much, Abigail enjoyed that it _felt_ like tearing into something fleshy, and the tang of the sauce felt like blood on her tongue. Patty knew why Jeanne hated pizza, because the nephilim had cleaned out the years-old cheese grease from the wood boards, and the rancid smell of dried dairy was awful enough in small doses.

Now cleaner, Trish tore off a piece of the recently arrived pepperoni pizza, Jeanne and Lady slowly working their way through a Hawaiin. Patty looked at the demoness expectantly, shoving two slices of pizza in her mouth at once. Trish snorted between her chortling, thinking of how much like Dante that behaviour was.

“All right, well,” Trish lounged on the desk, sitting on it next to Patty, “I was on my way back from a hunt, when I got ambushed by Blitzes. But the weird thing was, there was this guy in a white uniform, I think he summoned them.”

“That is concerning,” Jeanne said quietly, “If they’re collecting devils and summoning them, we have to stop them. You said they’ve been interfering with other hunters, yes?” Lady nodded in response, Jeanne leaving her seat to get the phone on the desk, dialling a particular number she had memorised. Patty and Trish cocked their heads in confusion, but that changed into surprise once Jeanne started talking.

“This is Jeanne from Devil May Cry, I need to speak to guildmaster Itsuno. Yes, I’ll wait.” Jeanne twisted her index finger in the cord of the phone, waiting for the soft, polite reply on the other speaker’s end. A click sounded, and the gruff voice of guildmaster Itsuno came through.

The guildmaster oversaw all guilds, any hunter with a license and a bank number answered to him, no questions, even Lady and Trish knew to answer when he called. Dante was the only hunter that operated outside his jurisdiction, but that was because he and Itsuno had an agreement over any jobs that directly concerned him, or jobs he was contacted personally to take.

“I have heard that the Order of the Sword is giving you trouble, what do you know about them?”

_”Only that they speak Italian and have been abducting all kinds of devils and artefacts. Why, what do you know?”_

“I know where they are, but I have a request.”

_”Go on, little Redgrave.”_

Jeanne sucked in a deep breath, and prayed her father would forgive her.

“If we haven’t sorted this out in two months, then the contract is open to any hunter. They’re based on an island called Fortuna, Devil May Cry will go and investigate. Success yields payment.”

There was a snort of some kind from Itsuno.

_”Of course. Two months, little Redgrave, gods be with you.”_

Jeanne slammed the receiver down again, a cold sweat washing down her back. She had a vague plan, normally in situations like this any would-be demon lord required a powerful artefact to draw strength and magic from, and what more powerful object was there, than the Sparda? 

“Trish, how do you feel about an infiltration mission?”

“Jeanne! What do you think you’re doing?” Patty slammed her fist on the desk, glowering at her sister. Jeanne returned with a steely gaze.

“I’m going to rescue Nero, I promised I’d find him, and my hand has now been forced.” Jeanne growled, eyes glowing gold. Patty hissed, the conflict of their powers rising the heat between the sisters as they made their stand-off. 

“Alright, I’m game. What’s the plan, princess?” Trish diffused the situation by picking up the Sparda again, slinging it over her shoulders, then placing her arm over Jeanne’s shoulders casually.

“We bring them the Sparda, and myself, disguised as gifts. You gather intel, and I’ll find Nero.”

\-------------

Kyrie hated being in the hospital. She hated the smell, the images and most of all, she hated that it was her fault Nero was in said hospital, unconscious and healing from an intense wound. 

She’d brought him out of the house, on his day off, to listen to her sing in the chapel in the woods. She’d seen him moping around the house during their chores, and had hoped the sunny day would brighten his mood. Unfortunately, a Blitz (as she had learned from Credo) had gotten a decent lick on her most beloved Knight Elect. When it had happened, she’d not believed her eyes or her ears. There had been a rush of wind, unlike any other she’d ever known, and a flash like lightning had struck Nero as the Blitz dragged its jagged, sharp claws over his right arm. He’d screamed and tears of pain had fallen down his bloodied face, but with an unnatural strength, Nero had taken one of the iron candle rods in the chapel and impaled the damned being through its stomach, spilling more blood, some of it splashing onto Kyrie and her pale blue and white maiden’s dress. After the beast had been assailed, Nero had passed out, and his arm was steaming, hot from the blood, but impossibly cold underneath her touch. 

Once she’d dragged him as much as she could towards the bottom of the castle’s climb, Credo had flown to her side, assessed the damage, and summoned enough men to get both her and Nero to the hospital back in town. 

The doctor had given her nothing but a sprained ankle, but Nero’s condition was feverish and he’d phased several times through consciousness and fitful sleep. 

She clutched her cowl, attached to her dress, and pulled it over her head to make her prayer to Sparda. 

\---------------

“Monsieur, c’est l’ile Vie de Marli,” the voice crackled through the radio, “Nombre de se permettre à atterrir?”

Dante leaned into the receiver attached to his dashboard, picking up the device from its hook and reading off the code from his left side panelling. 

“Delta Mike Charlie, two dash twenty-five, zero one, zero three.” 

“AH! Mister Redgrave! I’ll let Lucia know you’re landing now. Portside, the first bay is open.” The attending flight lieutenant must have been told to expect him, Dante thought, as he brought Rosie gently downwards towards the landing strip.

“Copy that.” Dante replied, easing Rosie into the final bank, and once straight he lifted her nose upwards to allow the landing gear to break the descent. Slowing down, he turned slightly to his left to a shed painted with a “1” and brought the biplane to a complete stop before its doors. A young man emerged from his right, as Dante exited his vehicle, opening the shed and driving the plane inside, Dante heading for the gate between the airfield and the main island.

“Mister Redgrave, was it?” The guard asked, an older fellow with thick, bushy eyebrows that had greyed and a slightly pudgy body stuffed into a dark blue uniform. His skin was wrinkled not just from old age and sun, but also from his terrible smoking habit, fingers yellowed and many missing teeth from his grin as he welcomed Dante through the border.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Dante yawned, stretching his back and arms as he looked around, the dirt road leading away from the airfield and up some hills, “What’s it to ya?”

“Not a whole lot,” laughed the guard, “But there is a lovely pizza joint on the other end of town. Lucia’s been wanting to show you for months.” 

At the mention of her name, a tanned woman with bright red hair came charging down the road, dust and noise trailing her bike with determination and fury. Dante briefly feared for his life, as Lucia came to a screeching halt, her tyre almost brushing the toes of Dante’s boots. Dante shuffled the bag on his back and shook his head in admonition, banishing his momentary, internal panic.

“What’s the rush?” Dante chortled as Lucia rose from her bike. She was wearing her usual hunter outfit, tight blue jeans, several leather holsters, a leather jacket and white cape - and a scowl that would strike fear into a Fury. 

“Dante, a massive demon turned up on the other side of town,” Lucia growled, frustrated, “And not even I can kill it.”


	3. The Promise Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are put in motions, and Hell Princes are extinguished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry these updates are so sporadic, but I'm trying to make high-quality content! Thank you for your patience. I love you all for reading this story. <3

_“Good as this plan may be,”_ Morrison chuckled through the receiver, _”I won’t be getting you any planes before your daddy comes home. I’m sorry girl, but I prefer my skin on me, and not on Dante’s wall.”_

Jeanne sighed, putting the phone back on its holder. Trish, Lady and Patty all looked at her expectantly, and the nephilim felt a mass of disappointment come through the back of her neck in a wave of heat, flushing her cheeks in frustration.

“Morrison won’t help us until he hears from Dante.” Jeanne stated flatly, returning to the couch opposite Lady and Trish, the pair of huntresses sighing in relief. Lady may not like the Order, and the Hunter’s Guild may want the bothersome knights out of the picture, but even she knew better than to test Dante’s wrath. Once, it had almost cost her her life. 

“Well then, just pray for a swift return.” Trish offered, springing up from her seat, heading for the door. Lady was soon to follow, jumping onto her own bike, travelling alongside the demoness through the nightscape of the city, arriving at a small set of apartments on the other side of Capulet.

“She’s really set on saving Nero, isn’t she?” Trish prodded at Lady as she opened the door to their shared flat, the space relatively sparse due to their frequent travels abroad and cross country.

“I don’t think that’s it. Jeanne loves Dante, more than anything else,” Lady thought about that fight in the library, Dante declaring he’d clean up her family’s mess for her, because it was also his family’s mess, and she thought about his devastation after returning from Mallet, all of it tied to Vergil. 

“Nero is most likely Vergil’s son,” Lady recalled, falling into her bed, having walked through the abode, ready to sleep, “And that makes him all Dante has left, Yamato included or not; Jeanne is dedicated to protecting his heart from more pain.”

“So she’s going to bust her ass trying to save him, cause he’s family.” Trish surmised, laying on her side to watch Lady from her bed. The huntress reached for a tiny frame on her nightstand, a photo of her and Dante, after his shop had been repaired from the Temen-Ni-Gru incident, in the image Dante had painted a wide, shining grin across his features, but his eyes felt like hollow glass. The Lady in the same photo wasn’t much better, giving a superficial peace sign and smile that barely lifted her lips. So much had been lost in their lives, that Jeanne was desperate to hold everything fast, which was why she’d bound Abigail to Patty. It was frightening to think how far the girl would go to keep her family afloat in the tempest of fate.

“In the end, that’s all that has mattered to them.” Lady sighed.

\-------------

“So where’s the fire?” Dante asked casually, driving the bike through the island town’s quiet streets, citizens having been warned of the minor demonic incursion. 

“Now isn’t the time for jokes!” Lucia scolded, digging her claws into Dante’s stomach, the hunter coughing in mild pain, apologising under his breath.

“But for your information, keep going down this way!” Lucia shouted over the engine rumbles, pointing towards the south beach, where the road would terminate. Next to the waves, overlooking the waters, was a fire demon, about eight feet in height, crowned in a towering blaze, his body obscured under a heat haze. From what Dante could see, he appeared to stand on two goat-like legs, with a giant, serpentine neck attached to a buff torso and arms that ended in sharp claws. The demon turned, facing the pair of hunters that now stood before him. 

“So you’re back,” the demon chortled, “Now will you tell me where the Yamato went?”

Dante felt his internal temperature drop, being on this beach, he could feel it too, the remnants of Vergil’s soul that had been attached to the blade his father had gifted to the elder twin. Dante’s eyes snapped to the impression of a sneer that flashed over the fire demon’s lavaesque skin. 

“I don’t talk to demons like you!” Lucia snarled, throwing herself forward, daggers extended. She dodged the first punch, ducking easily under the slow moving fist, but she was caught off-guard by the creature kicking her with its hoofed limb, throwing her into the dunes some distance off. 

“Hey hot-head,” Dante drew out Rebellion and Cerberus, pointing his finger threateningly at the monster, “It’s pretty poor of you to hurt my friend like that, that’s how you make an enemy out of me.”

The demon laughed, leaning down slightly, legs in a position to run. It kicked its back foot against the sand, creating a dust storm that carried on the wind. 

“I know you, Son of Sparda,” the demon lunged forward, Dante blocking the blow with Rebellion’s flat side easily, “And I am Balrog! Heir to the Fire Hell!” 

And like a proud creature would, Balrog raised his fisted arm, a glint of blue coming from his forearm, and an echo of the screech of steel on steel rang in Dante’s ears.

A shard of the Yamato. 

Dante sheathed Rebellion on his back, raising instead Cerberus, the icy demon dog roaring to its master’s command. 

“We’ll see how long that retirement plan lasts.” Dante quipped, diving under the demon’s legs, coming out behind the beast to shoot its back with Ebony and Ivory, disorienting Balrog slightly. Dante whipped Cerberus against the demon’s legs, ice forming around the hooves, causing Balrog to scream. The hunter dove behind a sandbank to avoid Balrog’s wide swing with his Yamato-enhanced arm. It would be difficult to defeat him while he still had the shard lodged in his arm, Dante knew, and it would be impossible to break it with Rebellion. The hunter glanced down to the weapon in his hands, and made a mental apology. 

_”You can mourn my loss once the job is done.”_ the ghostly voice of Cerberus rang through his head, and Dante took a deep breath, stealing a glance at the fire-breathing monster as it burned its way up towards the town. Dante leapt into the air, Triggering as he landed, using it as a distraction tactic to get close to Balrog. With the demon prince now trying to land another blow to the hunter, Dante sailed through the air, spinning wildly with Cerberus, ice creeping up Balrog’s arm and chest. With his long neck, he tried to swipe at Dante with his head like a mace, but the hunter dove downwards towards the shine of blue-tinted steel in the hot flesh. Slamming Cerberus with everything he had in him, exhausting his Trigger in a single move, Dante shattered the shard of blade, and Balrog yowled in deep pain. Dante jumped off the limb and back into the sand, turning in the air to see the devastation, hot fiery blood spewing from the wound, which had poorly sealed around the object, and then he felt Cerberus break in his palm, the nunchucks evaporating into a fine iron powder. 

Dante blinked, imagining the icy beast walking off into the water, and was swiftly met with Balrog’s fist to his stomach, sending the hunter further back into the sand, grains getting into his mouth and hair. Exhaling heavily, Dante recovered, drawing Rebellion.

“YOU! I'LL EAT YOU!” Balrog screamed. The demon activated its own trigger, sending out a flurry of punches, each one Dante blocked with ease, countering it by sending it back towards Balrog, the demon recoiling heavily after the assault. Blade in hand, Dante ran for the exhausted demon, leaping sword first for its shoulder, the edge biting into the heated flesh, more molten blood exploding from the gash as Dante dragged the weapon diagonally down Balrog’s body, effectively slicing the demon in two. A satisfying thud came from the two pieces landing on the shore, the lower body exposing the interior of the beast, a horrid black sac denoting its heart and too many bones to be anything human could be spied under the quickly evaporating blood. 

Dante moved to head for Lucia, when a beam of concentrated fire flew next to his right arm. Turning sharply, he could see that Balrog was flexing his horrible jaw, more energy collecting between his teeth. Dante braced, Rebellion flat side forward, for the next blast, when a shadowy figure flew across Balrog’s form, and the familiar, rippling explosion of a grenade pulsed through the air. 

“Chew on that in Hell, bastard.” Lucia spat on the demon’s corpse as it turned into smoke, the moon quickly overtaking the sky. Dante brushed his hands together, wiping away the last of Cerberus from his gloves and sleeves. He held out his hand for Balrog’s soul, an orb of concentrated power. Balrog manifested much like Ifrit, but the weight was off, and unlike Ifrit, Dante could feel the resentment in the back of his mind - he chose to ignore it for the moment.

“Speaking of food,” Dante shot Lucia a winning smile, “Pizza?”

\---------

When the old man had mentioned a new pizza parlour, Dante had to admit he hadn’t been expecting a rustic, properly Italian restaurant on the island. However, after considering the local geography, it made sense. Lucia had been grumbling the whole time, that Dante had just dispatched the demon like it was nothing, and that her skills as a Protector were useless.

“Hey,” Dante shot in his warning tone as they waited for their order, “You’re not useless. Weren’t you the one to hold off all those Secretaries even _I_ struggled with?”

Lucia returned him a blank stare, and the hunter sighed, rubbing down his face.

“Lucia, listen to me, cause I’ll only say this once,” Dante leaned forward on his elbows, knitting his fingers together under his chin, “You can’t compare yourself to me, we’re two different beings.”

“....I suppose.” Lucia relented, tearing her gaze away from Dante, blushing profusely.

“You’re just like Genie, it’s incredible.” Dante laughed, thanking the waitress as she delivered his three small pizzas and Lucia’s pasta. The demoness raised her brow, and Dante smacked his cheeks in mock horror.

“Oh, I forgot to mention, I’m a dad now. Two lovely little girls, you should see them sometime.”

Lucia bristled, hissing quietly as she stuck her cutlery rather forcefully into her dish. Dante tilted his head in confusion, stuffing another three slices of pizza into his mouth at once.

“Who….Who is their mother?” Lucia choked out between her angry inhales. Dante laughed, and it only served to bring more fury out of the huntress, as she pulled a dagger out and pointed it at the hunter’s throat. Dante raised his hands in surrender.

“Ah, yeah, they’re adopted.”

Lucia’s body flooded with relief, and she gave her best, most enticing smile to Dante as she withdrew her weapon. 

“I’m sure they’d love one.” She said, eyes filled with adoration and a deep, pink hue covering her cheeks almost entirely. At this, Dante shook his head, eating his pizza quietly, as Lucia hummed to herself, thinking of nothing but what kind of wedding dress she’d wear.

Dante felt a sudden, and very deep fear for his life, and it only intensified as they arrived at Matier’s house. 

The woman was much the same as when Dante had first come to the island, wrinkled, tanned skin, white hair greyed from age and a walking stick almost as tall as herself. She wore a few more layers now, and Dante couldn’t as easily dismiss the scent of death that radiated outwards from her woolen cloaks. 

“At last you have returned, Dante. What kept you in Hell?” The old Protector inquired, welcoming Dante with two kisses to his cheeks, the hunter returned the gesture in earnest. 

“I had to seal the gate, and then I was just looking for an exit. Luckily for me,” Dante yawned, stretching his arms, touching the ceiling in the process, “One just happened to pop up at the Temen-Ni-Gru site.” 

Matier seemed to consider this for a while, stirring a cup of tea absently as Lucia prepared the spare mattress on the floor in the next room.

“The demon you slayed today,” Matier broke the silence, “How did he get here?”

“Why don’t we ask him that?” Dante offered, summoning the gloves and boots, Balrog’s voice a distant echo in the back of his mind, like a rumbling flame he was still seething. 

“Now, now,” Dante soothed mockingly, “How did you end up with the Yamato shard?”

Balrog snorted, prideful as always. Images of Mundus holding Vergil captive came to mind, the great King of the Fire Hell snapping the Yamato in two like it was a twig, and then the devil king inserted a shard into Balrog’s arm. The memory shifted, Balrog had received a vision of the Yamato pieces that Mundus had thrown into the river washing up on the shore of Dumary Island. It wasn’t uncommon for high ranking demons to be able to manipulate time in Hell, to see the future by tearing apart the fabric of the Underworld, but the accuracy was difficult to determine, due to the differential between worlds. Dante felt Balrog’s ire rise, and he dismissed the Devil Arm, placing its soul back into his pocket. 

_”I am not the only son of Mundus, you of the Traitor’s line,”_ Balrog snarled in his metallic prison, _”Berial, the current King of the Fire Hell, he will avenge me!”_

Somehow, Dante doubted it would end as Balrog seemed to believe.

“Sure, whatever will help you sleep buddy.” Dante yawned again, Matier sent him to bed.

“We’ll talk in the morning, child.” Matier smiled warmly, waving Dante towards his temporary accommodations.

\----------------

**You could barely protect her** , the voice came through Nero’s ears like the ringing of crystal. He could understand the words, but there was only the impression of a sharp, nasal tone, and he couldn’t hold onto the sounds the speaker made clearly, neither could he picture the face that would match. 

**You need more power** , the assault continued, **might controls everything, and without it, you cannot protect anything**. 

Nero imagined these words being familiar to another, that this was not the first time they’d been uttered. 

**When you are worthy, come for me, I will gladly give you your inheritance**.


	4. Dreamless Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Devil May Cry agency begins to hash out their plan.

The sun crawled in through the window, eventually washing over Dante’s face, and the hunter sat bolt upright, hissing at the bright object that had so rudely awoken him from his slumber. Sighing and massaging his forehead, he decided sleep was no longer an option, and elected to make use of the early hour to wash up and clear himself out since last night. Dante was fully awake and hungry like clockwork, today would have been like any other Thursday had he been home, and the hunter was looking forward to returning. 

“You’re up early,” Lucia yawned, she walked like a cat, slinking and sly, the huntress oozing into the space between her and Dante, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Lucia,” Dante stonewalled, his hands clenched uncomfortably, and despite the lovely half-asleep stare the demoness was giving him, he resisted; “I can’t do this.”

The hunter pushed her away, into the wooden chair next to the empty fireplace, and knelt before her, Lucia now waking up better as Dante spoke as evenly as he could, afraid that he’d lose one of his better friends.

“ **I** can’t be what you want, I _can’t_ give you your dreams,” The hunter brushed his knuckles down the side of the demoness’ cheek, Lucia leaning into his touch, “You need to be here, and I need to be there, you can’t change that.” 

Lucia’s eyes began to water, and Dante cursed himself for his rotten luck with women. If it wasn’t him getting slapped or reprimanded, it was always tears and misery.

“Lucia, look at me,” Their eyes met, dark green to pale blue, and Dante sucked in a breath, “I’m sorry I can’t return your feelings. However, you can still count on me as your friend, I won’t just turn you to the wolves.”

Lucia sat in stunned silence for a while, as Dante rounded up his small amount of effects. It had felt like her heart had been stolen from her and torn to shreds, and where she may have once found tears, she now couldn’t cry. The pain was too strong, and she felt tired and angry, all at once. 

“Dante….” Lucia hoarsely whispered, the hunter turning his head slightly to see her in the corner of his eye, “You wouldn’t even give it a chance? I could-”

“Lucia, **enough**!” Dante snapped, his eyes hidden in the shadows of his front hairs, glowing a shade of red. Lucia felt a shiver through her body, telling her to run and hide from the powerful demon in front of her, yet her feet were glued to the floor, and her knees became weak.

“He is right, my child,” Matier interrupted, the elderly woman raising her height ever so slightly, sloughing off the effects of sleep and age, “You would end up submitting to him, not as a wife, but as a demon to their lord. You can’t help it, you’re not human, no matter how I raised you.” Matier approached Lucia, hugging her gently, the huntress returning the embrace ferociously, eyeing Dante with a level of desperate fury.

“Thank you for letting me stay,” Dante sighed, picking up his bag and heading for the door, passing the women by, “Call me if you need anything.” 

He shut his ears the moment he made it outside, ignoring the pained cries of the huntress and the attempts of Matier to assuage her tempestuous emotions. He focused solely on making it back to the airport some miles away to take Rosie back to Capulet, where he’d see his daughters again, where he could put Lucia out of his mind once more.

\--------------

There was a rumbling of a bike engine that caused both Patty and Jeanne to snap their heads in the direction of the garage door, upon its opening an exhausted-looking Dante walked into the shop, scratching his scalp under his mop of hair. Both girls descended on him, occupying either side of the hunter.

“Father!”  
“Dad!”

Dante grunted under the force of their combined hug, relaxing enough to brush both of their backs in gentle, long strokes. 

“What’s the matter, you act like I left you for weeks.” 

It was Patty who disrupted the peace, by staring Dante square in the eye, and beginning her tirade against her sister.

“Well you try talking some sense into Jeanne!” The blonde snapped, and before Jeanne, who had adopted a guilty expression, could speak, the louder younger sister continued.

“She loses Nero in her dreams, and now she’s so dead-set on going to rescue him,” Jeanne shrank away from Patty and Dante, backing slowly into the couches, Patty gesturing wildly, “That she took out a two month contract with Guildmaster Itsuno of all people! And she hasn’t even made a plan, not a real one! She’s even dragged Trish, Lady and Morrison into this, can you believe that? Jeanne, don’t give me _that_ pathetic look, dad’s home now, own up to your horrible decision making skills!”

Between the ruffled feathers that Patty was so obviously displaying in her crossed arms and pouting face, and Jeanne’s inability to look either in the eye, Dante felt himself laugh. Slow and deep, true laughter came from his belly and climaxed with the hunter doubling over and wheezing.

“Ha…Ha.... Aaaah man,” Dante wiped his eyes, finally unfolding himself. Patty scoffed and Jeanne looked perplexedly at his response, “You two...So much like mom and dad.” Dante’s eyes had a faraway look as he stared at the picture of his mother, then he slung his bag back over his shoulder to climb the stairs. His voice rang out to the bottom floor.

“Dad used to do pretty rash things sometimes,” Dante chuckled to himself, thinking of Sparda in the kitchen making a mess or when he’d declare war on inanimate objects that had hurt his family, “And mom was always setting him straight. It was honestly terrifying but...Nothing was more human for him than that.”

Patty’s anger deflated, and Jeanne regained some of her confidence at last, able to face her father as he came down the staircase, leaning over the rail to look at his daughters with a lazy, wide smile. 

“I suppose,” Jeanne coughed, “It was pretty poor of me to not think like that. I’m sorry Patty, you’re right.” 

“Thank you, and,” Patty sniffed, “You’re also right, we need to put a stop to these Order folk. Also, Morrison called earlier - says you should go see Rock Goldstein as soon as convenient.” 

“What would I need to see him for?” Dante raised his brow, Patty shrugging as she fell into the seat opposite Jeanne, switching on the TV to the local news.

“He didn’t say, but it sounded urgent.”

\---------------

Rock Goldstein welcomed Dante into his shop, even as the darkness of night closed upon the city once more. The older of the pair locked the door, calling from the back of the shop for Dante to follow. In the workshop, Rock picked up a framed picture of him and his late sister, and two other figures Dante didn’t recognise.

“It’s good to see ya, Dante. As soon as I heard from Lady about this Order business, it...brought some rough topics to mind.” The gunsmith picked out two glasses from among the many papers that littered the workbenches, and poured into them two fingers of whiskey each, Dante accepting the offering and only watching as Rock downed his in a hurry.

“This here picture, it’s all I have left of Alyssa, bless her,” Rock sniffled, “And that right there? That’s Agnus, the bastard just upped and left her and lil’ Nico behind one day.” 

“Nico?” Dante took a small sip of his drink, listening closely as Rock talked through his tale.

“Nicoletta Goldstein now, I adopted her once Alyssa died. Agnus left her before that, we worked together on that damned island and he got called away by an old friend - I’d forgotten their name until Lady came in here, rambling about the Order of the Sword.”

Rock reached under more papers on a desk behind him, a slender, leather journal coming from under the loose pages. Inside, neat, curved handwriting denoted dates and memories along the pages, stopping abruptly some time in June, many years ago. Dante leafed through the words gently as Rock continued talking.

“Nico’s off at a fancy boarding school, gettin’ herself a real science education. She’s gonna go places, my little darlin’, but her daddy’s a **real** monster. He helped that rat-bastard Arius make his ritual in the first place, thanks to research he’d done for his old friend in Fortuna.” Rock stumbled over his words, as he downed another double shot of whiskey, Dante barely finishing off his first before more liquor was poured into his glass.

“Go and git her old man for me, won’t ya Dante? He’s got this comin’ if ya askin’ me, but it won’t be easy. He’s a slippery weasel, and whatever he’s doing for the Order, it’s going to be worse than Arius and Argosax ever were.” 

“Who’s this old friend you keep mentioning?” Dante placed his full glass in front of Rock, who downed it for the hunter, his cheeks coming a bright, intoxicated pink. 

“Sanctus.” Rock sighed into his hands, the gunsmith rising shakily to his feet, attempting to make his way up his stairs, tripping once. Dante swallowed his remaining questions to help Rock back into his apartment, the weapon maker clearly finished with any information he may have to give.

Dante drove his bike twice as carefully on his way back to Devil May Cry, trying not to think about how many families were now tied up in this affair, and how much personal responsibility he could possibly claim for the upcoming mission. This was the first proper request Rock had ever given the hunter, and it was to end the life of another - but if he was completely human, Dante doubted he’d be ready to pull the trigger. 

He wasn’t a mercenary anymore, he didn’t take lives if he could help it.

Once he got home, he soon found himself swaddled in blankets and eating popcorn between his daughters on a mattress on the floor, Patty falling asleep on his left shoulder, and Jeanne curled up on his right side. Dante knew the film on the TV, it was something Eva had watched with him and Vergil once, about a man chasing an artefact because of a family legacy. He watched as the Nazis on screen opened the Ark of the Covenant, only to be turned to ash. He felt there was something poetic about that.

\--------------------

Jeanne hadn’t dreamt of Nero in two days, so she was surprised when she found herself surrounded by a white mist, the image of Nero’s back before her. She reached out for him, but his shoulder dissipated into fog once she touched him.

“The child of the Dark Slayer has been hidden from your view,” Jeanne whipped around, and found herself facing The Right Hand. She fell to her knees, bowing her head.

“Little one, we regret to put such a burden upon your shoulders,” The Right Hand continued, placing a golden, armoured hand on her head, “But know that we are with you.”

“It is reassuring to hear your voice, great one,” Jeanne replied, raising her eyes to see the angel, “I have faith that my Father above has planned for me.” 

Now that she was focusing on The Right Hand, she could see how his eight, wide wings shielded most of him from view, his glimmering golden armour shining like the sun. It was hard to look at him, and the greater angel brought his wings in tighter once he retracted his hand.

“Your Father above is with you, little one.”

\--------------

As per the last two years, Jeanne would wake first, she’d make breakfast and lunches and then clean whatever she had time for. Today, while Jeanne made French toast, she was approached by Patty in the kitchen, the girl yawning and wiping her eyes furiously to generate some alertness.

“We’re not going to school today.” Patty declared, reaching past her sister for a banana. Jeanne wiped her hands on her apron, then she flipped another slice of French toast onto a plate. 

“And why would that be, sister?” Jeanne looked over her shoulder to Patty as she finished her fruit. 

“Dad said so, he’s already called ahead too. Says we need to get ready.”

“Ah, I see.” Jeanne nodded, turning off the stove, picking up the tray beside her, laden with berries, yoghurt and French toast slices. Taking them downstairs, she began preparing a dish for Dante, laying out two pieces of toast and slathering them with the creamy dairy product and slices of strawberries. The hunter was currently seated at his desk, having cleaned up the popcorn crumbs and put away the bedding left over from the night before.

“Genie, tell me more about your plan.” Dante took a knife to his meal and sliced out a triangle to eat. Patty gathered her own breakfast from the tray on the desk and flopped into the couch, munching happily on the sweetened bread.

“Trish suggested that the Order is summoning demons,” Jeanne explained, picking up a few raspberries and placing them in her mouth, “Normally demon lords require a magical object from which to draw strength - nothing is stronger than the Sparda, so I had thought if Trish took the Sparda and myself, disguised as gifts to the Order, we’d be able to gather information and slow them down, as well as find Nero.” Jeanne finished her mouthful, watching her father nod thoughtfully.

“Okay,” Dante drank some water, “But wouldn’t the Order just immediately be able to tell what you are? I remember you _burning my skin_ when you first got here.”

Jeanne paled, no, she hadn’t thought about how she’d suppress her holy presence. While she had demonic heritage, her divine powers would destroy her disguise.

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Jeanne admitted sheepishly, Patty snorting behind her.

“ **I** did! You remember that gift I got from my mom’s will? I found this in it.” Patty produced a thick tome with an intricate wooden carving on the front, a gem seated in its center. Opening the book, Patty showed a diagram for a spell.

“This is a seal spell, the same one Alan used. I think we can use it on your powers.” Jeanne leaned over the pages, reading the spell quickly. She frowned, and Patty’s smug expression fell into a grimace as Jeanne’s face darkened.

“There’s a small problem,” Jeanne explained, pointing to the left of the diagram, “If we’re going to seal my powers, we need a pure human’s blood to fuel the spell, moreover, someone with a magical history.”

The three shared a look, Dante placing the heels of his palms into his eyes as he leaned back into the wall, tipping his chair. It was going to be expensive, they were all certain of that much. 

“Hey, why the glum faces? Aren’t you happy to see me?” Lady cheered as she entered the shop, Trish in stride with her. 

“Hey Lady,” Patty pushed her fingers together as she hesitated, “How much for a vial of blood?”

“.....What.” Lady asked flatly. Trish chuckled as Dante dove into the locked drawer in his desk, pulling out several golden objects.

“She said,” the hunter groaned, “How much for a vial of blood?”


	5. Coming to Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trish and Jeanne begin the infiltration mission, with Lady soon to follow.

“Lemme get this straight,” Lady inspected her nails pointedly, “You’re going to pay me for my blood.”

At this point, Dante had buried his head in his arms, and Jeanne and Patty were not much better, each of them forcing themselves to look in any direction except at the walking arsenal. Dante grumbled from under his leather sleeves, his upper hand rubbing his scalp, trying to will himself back into the conversation.

“I’m _sorry_ , I don’t speak **mopey demon** ,” Lady slammed her fist down on the desk, causing the phone to jump, as well as Jeanne and Patty. Dante gave a lazy, dreading stare at Lady, his mouth and nose still hidden in his arm, Lady leaning in closer over the thick wood of the desktop to speak again.

“Try that again in mopey human, and _maybe_ I’ll understand you better.” Lady smirked as Dante dragged himself around, first lolling back, slumping into his chair, and then leaning on his forearms, bowing in defeat to the huntress.

“ ** _Yes_** , I’ll pay you,” Dante conceded, “This is the opening bid.”

“It won’t be much blood,” Jeanne said timidly, the nephilim shyly walking towards Lady, “But once we’ve taken what we need, you can better assess the price?” 

“Alright,” Lady smiled, cocking her hip back and pushing her knee forward, “Sounds like a deal. How are we doing this?”

Which was how Lady found herself seated in the shower on a chair from the kitchen, a glass under her scarred leg, and Jeanne looming over the old injury with a holy dagger. She’d explained how she’d take the blood, and that using the old wound site would hurt less, as the scar tissue lacked some vital pain receptors. Jeanne was nervous, understandably, due to the fact she’d promised Dante she’d never hurt a human, yet here she was.

Swallowing her fears with a thick gulp, she prayed internally that Lady wouldn’t feel a thing. Jeanne drove the knife downwards, into the cross-shaped scar, Lady grimacing at the entry of the blade, but was otherwise not showing signs of pain. Jeanne swallowed back a small bit of bile and watched as the blood that dripped from the other side of Lady’s thigh fell into the cup as crystalised droplets, coalescing into one medium sized gem. Once the jewel was the same size as a single round of Ebony and Ivory, Jeanne withdrew her implement and whispered a healing spell, sealing the fresh injury flush against the rest of the scar.

“Are you okay?” Jeanne placed her hands on Lady’s shoulders, the woman scowling slightly, before giving her a softened smile.

“I’ll be fine in a bit, maybe something salty and a drink would be nice.” Lady groaned as she stood up slowly from the seat, Jeanne summoned Trish to help the woman redress and walk back into the main part of the shop, while Patty came in the door carrying several kebabs and Dante the rest of the snacks. It was going to be a long day. 

“I have here one extra-salted, just for you.” Patty placed the hot, aromatic food in front of Lady on the low table, the huntress easing into the seat and blanket happily. Jeanne soon returned with a tray full of different drink jugs, two chilled with water, a hot pot of tea and three bottles of sugary concoctions that had snuck their way into the fridge.

“We have the jewel we require Patty, after we’ve eaten we’ll start the spell.” Jeanne showed her sister the blood gem, it glimmered with a deep red in the bright light of the day. The meal was hot, and welcome between the participants. Lady had graciously agreed to accept food and the few pure gold coins Dante had offered for her donation, but Lady had also created another caveat - she wanted majority pay on this job to cover her losses from dealing with the Order of the Sword so frequently. Finishing with her meaty indulgence, Patty gathered her mother’s spellbook, checking the procedure. 

“So we’re going to need to route the spell through the gem,” Patty surmised, “And that means we know exactly what we’re sealing.”

“And that would be Jeanne’s divinity. But how would you isolate that?” Trish asked, licking her fingers clean of some stray sauce. Jeanne looked to Dante, still sitting at his desk, and the hunter gave her a sharp look in return.

“It’s possible if we can connect the seal to this…” Jeanne opened the top buttons of her gothic lolita dress, then peeled back the flesh of her chest, revealing a clear crystal with a single, milky stream flowing through it, perched in her sternum, “That way we can force the divinity back into it. Once the seal breaks, it’ll come right back to me.”

“You still have that?” Lady marvelled, giving the girl a distant smile as she resettled her clothes.

“I’m not completely mature, once I am,” Jeanne sighed, “It’ll fall right out, like a tooth. Nothing left to hold my Seed.”

“I really don’t like this, Genie,” Dante said loudly, echoing through the room, “You’re still a kid, and this isn’t a game.” Jeanne bristled, tears springing to her eyes. She clenched her fists, and inhaled through her nose.

“I know, I know it’s not,” Jeanne almost wailed, “But I have to do something! Nero needs this family, _his family_ , and believe it or not, this whole mess is because of Sparda. **That** makes it our problem.”

\---------------

The first time Patty had ever tried to use the magic her mother had left behind, she’d almost killed herself. It hadn’t been Jeanne, with her countless anti-magic wards or Dante with his magic-cutting weapons that had saved the young witchling, it had been Abigail. She’d been trying a simple spell, making a fire seal to trap a low-level demon, when she’d lost her concentration and the energy began to fluctuate rapidly. Jeanne was beginning to make an anti-ward, when Patty exploded into her Trigger, and Abigail ate the spell whole, only spewing a small amount of flames from their mouth once the spell’s volatility had calmed down.

“Do not do something so reckless ever again, vessel.” The demon had warned, eyes glowing a bright red before the Trigger vanished, leaving Patty on the floor unconscious and warm to the touch. Ever since then, Jeanne had specially supervised all magic learning, and insisted that Patty limit her spell use as much as possible, because of Abigail. With the great demon sealed inside her, Patty would draw on his energy more than her own; since she didn’t have a proper connection with him yet, the way she made spells was inconsistent and unpredictable.

Right now, Patty was concentrating on melting one of the fake coins Dante had made up some years ago, the crucible it had been placed in a bright, flaming orange. Jeanne was marking out the seal pattern in some clay in front of the smelting pit.

“While we put the silver into the mold,” Jeanne read Alan’s notes once more, “You’ll need to recite the spell. Do you remember the words?”

Patty nodded, grabbing the crucible with her tongs. She stole one last look at Jeanne, meeting her gaze, then focused on the shape of the seal, pouring the metal carefully into the hole for its deposit.

_With this spell, I lock away the truth of the divine. I put back into the Seed what spills forth from its form, I leave behind only the corporeal, created from the blood of Sparda. Lock, lock, lock, hold back the waters of power like a dam._

Her eyes glowed faintly with red, the silver cooling rapidly as the magic took hold, runes taking shape along the outer ring. The inner part of the charm was a six-petal flower, and in the center would go Lady’s blood gem, which Jeanne quickly inserted into the cooling metal, the gem firmly burnt into place. 

“Let’s hope it works, dear sister.” Jeanne breathed, taking the now ready charm, holding it up into the light to observe it. It had a faint shadow that ran over its surface like a reverse glow, absorbing the light that flowed into the garage from the open doorway. Closing the shutter door again, the girls headed back into the main part of the shop, where Dante had laid out almost all of the demonic artefacts he could be bothered to scrounge up, as well as several weapons. The hunter trio had deliberated over the efficacy of just handing over the Sparda and Jeanne, the consensus being that more would be needed to gain the Order’s complete trust.

“I think we take these,” Trish announced, picking up a briefcase that Dante had brought home after one hunt or another, and two artefacts, the Wing Charm and the Anima Mercury, “These should be more than enough to prove my backstory.”

“Which is that you’re from old blood,” Lady ran a hand through her hair as Patty and Jeanne came to Dante’s side at his desk, the man writing down numerous notes in a book, “And Jeanne was a guardian to the Sparda.”

At mention of her name, all the adults in the room came to face the pair of sisters, Jeanne holding the charm they’d made up for them to see.

“This should do the trick, once I put it on.” Jeanne nodded. Patty gulped, crossing her fingers, while Dante fidgeted hopelessly with his hands as he awaited the results of the spell. Jeanne took a deep breath, digging into the skin on her chest just deep enough to seat the charm in the healing wound, above her Seed. It felt like a chain came to rest around her entire body, tight and restrictive, making her feel at least a little sluggish. She tried to call on her wings, to no avail.

“Pass me your water.” Jeanne said to Dante, who handed her his half-full glass. She concentrated, trying to summon a cleanse spell.

But nothing happened. 

“It worked alright,” Jeanne exhaled, looking to the sky through the shop ceiling, “I can’t do anything remotely holy.”

“Good, then we can leave very soon.” Trish smirked, beginning to help Dante and Patty put away the unnecessary artefacts and weapons.

“I’ll be joining you on Fortuna,” Lady mentioned calmly to Jeanne, touching the girl’s arm carefully, “I’m going to be a friendly local there. I’ll keep my ear to the ground.”

\-----------

“Now you two realise that once we make landfall,” Morrison puffed on his cigar over the guardrail of the ferry, “You’re on your own. Completely. And once this is all over, I’ll be collecting my usual fee off your old man.” The broker tipped his hat in the direction of Jeanne, the girl nodding under her veil and cloak.

As a disguise for the mission at hand, Jeanne had been forced to wear a thick, dark veil and a long, grey dress with a high collar and sleeves, as well as white gloves. The dress laced tightly around her waist and the skirt fell to her ankles, and barely visible underneath the fabric of her petticoats and skirt, were pure white silk slippers, and on top of all that, a purple cloak. Trish had decided not to don her costume until they left Dante’s shop, to prevent the hunter from blowing her cover too soon. She wore a platinum blonde bob with piercing blue eyes and a severely tanned skin complexion. Atop this, was the gaudy white leather outfit she’d chosen, barely covering enough of her to be decent, paired with long boots that she tucked a pair of butterfly knives into, the Sparda across her back, Pandora and the two artefacts in a single case she was hauling.

The girls left Morrison on his boat, to meet with the second in command, a man called Strength. Two days ago, “Seras” had made an appearance before Sanctus, promising him a great deal of demonic treasures, if he granted her a position from which she could watch Hell freeze over. Now, she was making good on that promise, and Strength came into view down the main road from the dock.

“My, my, aren’t you just lovely.” Seras was easily charming her way through the knights, but Strength looked at her, even if only for a moment, as if she were the scum of the Earth. His face quickly fell neutral, and he waved for the girls to follow him.

“We’ll take you to the Hall, and from there, Sanctus will decide what to do with you.” Strength’s pace was purposeful, Trish and Jeanne almost running to keep up with the man, the remainder of the soldiers behind them. All around the procession as it passed by, people were bowing and praying in the streets. Jeanne tugged subtly at Trish’s coattail, and the demoness nodded. Another problem added to the pile, to be investigated by Lady when she arrived in a few days time.

\----------

The Opera Hall was every bit as bright and beautiful as Jeanne remembered from the dreams, the giant statue of Sparda looking down on the few attendees to Sanctus’ rehearsal session. 

“....And so we shall continue in our faith, for that great day.” Sanctus finished. Jeanne felt something like slime crawl down her shoulders, through her entire body, as she heard those final words. It seemed blasphemous to her own heavenly Father, nevermind her biological grandfather in Sparda. Having seen the great demon lord through Dante’s memories, she doubted the people of Fortuna would want to worship a god-figure that let his twin sons eat enough chocolate to send them into a sickened stupor. More than that, had her divine powers not been sealed, held back by Patty’s inheritance, she’d have fried the man where he stood with a flurry of holy energy.

“Your Holiness, the lady Seras to see you.” Strength bowed, exiting the room, this time giving Jeanne a sneer as he passed.

“Your Holiness,” ‘Seras’ bowed, Jeanne refusing to move an inch - not that it mattered, “I have brought you several great gifts.” 

Trish took from her shoulders the wrapped Sparda, unfurling the cloths that covered it to reveal its grisly appearance. Dante had replaced the Perfect Amulet in its socket, normally he wore it when he had the sword nearby. Sanctus waved for Credo, as Jeanne knew, to take the blade from Trish and hold it with its point to the ground. Next, Trish presented the first briefcase, revealing the Wing Talisman and Anima Mercury, which one of the nameless knights took from her, after Sanctus had inspected them, and finally she provided Pandora, the other briefcase she’d brought with her.

“This is a special one, I thought you might like it.” ‘Seras’ purred, winking at Sanctus, the old man chuckling softly.

“Yes, it will prove most useful. But lady Seras,” Sanctus’ face fell slightly, his sunken eyes turning sad, “Who is this you have brought with you?”

“This is the Pure Maiden, I found her when I found the Sparda,” ‘Seras’ recounted, circling around Jeanne like a predator its prey, “She was guarding it for a long time. I couldn’t bring myself to kill her, and she seems more than content to simply follow me, so here she is. I hope that’s alright with you.” They waited for Sanctus to reply, the priest thinking for a second, before snapping his fingers.

“Does she have any talents?” He asked, walking towards the main part of the stage. He turned and waited, Jeanne pulling Nevan from under her cloak in her lyre form. She began to play a piece and sing nonsense words, easily beautiful, but empty; just like the hall they occupied.

“Excellent. Captain Credo, take her and the Sparda to headquarters immediately. Give her the lord’s room, since she is so close to him, after all.” The knights saluted and left, Credo waiting for Jeanne to walk beside him. As they left, Sanctus turned to his final guest once more.

“And from now on, lady Seras, you shall be Gloria, for you have brought our instruments for success.” 

Trish smirked inwardly, then knelt on the cool marble.

“As His Holiness wishes.”

\------------

The lord’s room, Sparda’s old room, was well kept. The rich, wine red sheets he used to sleep in were perfectly kept, the books and vases all in order and dust-free, and the lights emitting a soft, warm glow. There were no windows, but Jeanne didn’t mind - she’d planned on this, she’d wait for Trish to guide her out of the headquarters and go out unseen.

“I hope this is to your liking, miss.” Credo said, preparing to leave to take the Sparda to Agnus. Jeanne shed her veil, revealing her face to the knight captain. Predictably he blushed as he beheld her, white hair elaborately braided, face slightly flushed from the warmth of her clothes and the sun, doll-like and impossibly gorgeous.

“It is...just like him,” Jeanne smiled sadly, pausing to remove her cloak and veil completely, folding them neatly, “I suppose I won’t have any visitors beside lady Seras, will I? I’d get terribly lonely if she was always busy.”

Credo sputtered for a moment, before slapping himself to collect his thoughts.

“I can see about arranging some company for you, if that is what you’d like.” With that, the captain left, firmly spinning on his heel to leave the room as quickly as possible. Now by herself, Jeanne fell onto the stiff mattress and stared into the canopy above her.

It had all gone perfectly to plan, so far.

\--------------

“Agnus, I have the Sparda.” Credo announced, the scientist leaning over a marble slab of a bed, covered in runic writings. Agnus tossed his head to the side, indicating for Credo to place the weapon next to the door.

“We have two of Sparda’s arms, I wonder where the third is?” Credo mused, trying to annoy the chief researcher. It worked, and Agnus flared up in an instant with his usual arrogance.

“The third sword is useless, whatever it is. Made by human hands - and whatever S-Sparda did with it is inconsequential. The Yamato and this,” Agnus pointed with his pen to the new Devil Arm, “Are all we require for the ritual. Now go on, get out!”


	6. Out of the Frying Pan...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nero is given his orders, and the mystery surrounding the Order begins to unravel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the sporadic updates and the slower pace of the start to the Fortuna saga, but if you bear with me, it'll be worth it in the end. 
> 
> Please keep enjoying and reviewing me, I love being here for you, my readers. <3

Nero had finally been given the all clear to return home, four days after his injury, and the first thing he’d heard since his return was that Kyrie was going to be much busier preparing for the Day of End ceremony to do the housework, leaving him to vacuum, scrub and tidy the house for the foreseeable future. He still had his injured arm wrapped in bandages and slung like it was broken, the doctor had given him a stern warning to return in case anything unusual developed, but Nero doubted the doctor could mend whatever had been happening to him while he was in the hospital. As he went about the chores for the day, he considered all he had seen.

Every day, a new dream of the man in blue, telling him to find his inheritance, every time Nero seemed to inch closer to understanding, the man would pull back and speak cryptically and his face was always blank. But the voice remained, echoing through his mind every time he closed his eyes for more than a blink.

_”I need more power! Give me more power!”_

It was unsettling to say the least, how much the sentiment resonated with him since the attack in the forest chapel. Had he been faster, or stronger, none of this would have happened - Kyrie would have been kept in perfect condition, and he’d have remained out of the hospital. That Blitz however, it didn’t seem like the other Blitzes he’d fought in the past, they were wilder, like flies attacking any available human. This was the first one to target him, specifically, using Kyrie as a distraction to land a solid hit. Shamefully, Nero realised it had worked, and now he had a strange, touch scale taking over his right arm’s skin; there was a constant, unnerving hissing coming from the limb, like a neon light.

“Ah, Nero,” Credo stepped into the small living room, dark bags circling under his eyes as he strode for the kitchen just beyond the door behind the white-haired boy, “I heard you’re free to do as you please. Good. Go and practice with your durandal when you can.” Nero was taken aback, sputtering through his words.

“What? You can’t be serious!” Credo glared at him, eyes narrowing and turning icy.

“I gave you an order, Knight Elect. You go and you practice, end of story,” Credo reprimanded, placing his hand on Nero’s good shoulder, “You have only three weeks to be ready for the Day of End ceremony, so you had better use every day of that to get a handle on it.” The older knight smirked, then chuckled under his breath. 

“You’re in luck, you know,” Credo turned his back to Nero, allowing his shoulders to relax completely as he returned to his previous mission in the kitchen, “Your custom model will be ready in time for the ceremony. So stop giving me that look, you’ll only get it if you practice with the base model **first**.” 

Nero rolled his eyes, placing the cleaning products back in their homes before heading out the door with a “yessir” to his commander.

Out in the lower fields of the mountain’s mine, nobody would be able to see Nero practice. There were plenty of rocks, defunct machinery and other junk to slice apart and break, allowing Nero to readjust to the weight of the weapon he held in his left hand. Blue Rose was still tucked into his waistband, despite his confidence of a lack of demons. He was working his way through the movement of Showdown, when he felt a shadow creep up his back. He’d been at this level of the mountain for hours, and was exhausted beyond belief, so the additional presence caused him to freeze momentarily, before he drew out his gun, whipping around to see the intruder. 

His arm felt like it was on fire, as he looked at the purple-clad demon.

\-----------

Dante could always change his Devil Trigger, according to the weapon he was holding at the time. It was one of the things he was constantly battering into his daughter’s heads, to practice their abilities, which included several different weapon forms, as well as how to use a Devil Arm’s magic as their own.

“I might royally suck at magic,” the hunter had lamented at the beginning of their training session, “But I _can_ do this.”

He’d shown them several different forms of his Devil Trigger, as well as how he could force Ifrit into a set of thick iron bands around his appendages, as examples. Jeanne belatedly realised she’d been using her demonic heritage to shape-shift Nevan as freely as she did, between instruments and hairpins or armbands. 

_”You never thought that it wasn’t a divine ability, did you?”_ Nevan had chortled into her ear that day, mocking her utter blindness.

Much like Dante’s Trigger, Nevan gave Jeanne a pair of functioning black, bat wings that could encompass her entire being, her skin turning a sickly green hue while her hair was a rusted red, flowing down her body over a loose, violet toga, while golden sandal thongs wrapped up her legs to her knees. 

_”Nero is nearby,”_ the sidhe whispered into Jeanne’s ear as she flew high into the sky, _”You’re going to fight him?”_

 _”Yes. We’re already at a disadvantage on time and information, we need another ace in hand.”_ Jeanne replied, flapping her wings with a thunderclap as she shot towards the canyon Nero was hidden in. When she arrived, Nero was already pointing a gun to her face, but then he seemed to fold inwards on himself, shielding his arm.

“W-what’s....” Nero huffed between pained breaths.

 _”He’s still rejecting his heritage.”_ Jeanne thought, taking a half-step backwards. 

_”Like you have room to talk, princess.”_ Nevan teased, Jeanne summoning the shape of the lightning covered scythe to her hand. Nevan responded in another clap of thunder, appearing with crackling energy along her blade. Jeanne bent her knees, leaned forwards, and waited for Nero.

The Knight Elect seemed to recognise a challenge when he saw one, and he raised the heavy weapon he’d discarded a moment ago, the guard of the durandal clicking around into place.

“I don’t know where you came from,” Nero hissed, “But you don’t belong here.”

Jeanne launched into Nero, sweeping Nevan quickly across the space between the two, Nero narrowly diving under the swipe and responding with his own back-hand strike, which was caught by the nook between blade and handle. The pair flew backwards from the blade lock, and they glowered at the other in anticipation.

\------------

Patty was missing Jeanne, it _had_ only been a few days, but it wasn’t the same in the shop without her. Even Dante was less motivated, when he realised he had to help Patty in the kitchen if he wanted to eat more than just pizza.

“Hey Patty-cake," Dante had that far-away look in his eyes, "How is Abigail?" Patty gave Dante a blank stare, her eyes flickering between red and blue. Finally, after some internal deliberation, her eyes remained a wicked red. 

"What do you want, disgusting hunter?" 

The words were from Patty's lips, but the tonality and the hissing around them were Abigail speaking. The last time Dante had summoned an audience with the sealed demon lord, Abigail had struck out to hurt Lady. Patty had Triggered her hands, and with wicked golden claws she'd moved to slash out Lady's stomach, had Jeanne not doused the demon in cleansing water, forcing a retreat. 

"I wanted to ask you," Dante rolled his tongue around in his mouth, thinking, "Is it possible that Vergil could come back?" 

The demon lord in Patty's body took a haughty pose, crossing its legs on the couch, leaning far over its knees with hands on its thighs. It laughed under its breath, staring into Dante's eyes intensely. 

"It is possible, hunter," Abigail lazily placed its chin on its left fist, thoroughly intrigued, "That Vergil's tortured soul was ripped into a thousand tiny pieces. If I am to believe that Sparda forged a part of his son into the blade, then should it be healed, the rest of him should also be pulled together."

Dante scowled, considering this supposition from the ancient demon. 

"If the Yamato is restored," Abigail gave a grin full of too many sharp teeth, "He _will_ come for it. It could be days, months, maybe even years, but it is his to hold. Such is the nature of a demon." 

Air rushed past Dante, a release of great pressure as Abigail retreated back into Patty. The hunter left his desk to approach his daughter, rubbing her back in slow circles. At times it hurt him to see the effect that Abigail had over Patty’s body, but at the same time, it had been the only way to save her life without the Yamato at hand. He wondered idly about his brother, if he had been present, would he have saved Patty from her current possession? He shook his head of the thoughts and returned his focus on his daughter, her back straightening as she eased back into control.

“Patty, how about we go do some training? Take your mind off things?” Dante often found himself struggling at times like this, when his daughters were suffering through something, and he was without answers on how to guide them. Despite his flaws as a parent, however, Patty and Genie were both more than willing to shower him in their affection, such as the death-grip hug Patty was currently squeezing him with.

“Mhm…” She murmured into his chest, and when she finally pulled away from the hunter, she fled for the garage to grab the two spare shotguns she’d claimed as her own. Dante sighed, squared his shoulders and checked his holsters for Ebony and Ivory, finding them exactly where he’d left them pressed against his lower back. He held up his hand and called for Rebellion, the sword flying into his grip from its place on the opposite side of the desk. He met Patty in the garage and climbed into the corvette, driving them towards the clearing they’d claimed as their own.

\-------------------------

 **Tutorial**  
**[Jeanne has access to two fighting styles, Paladin and Spellslinger. In Paladin mode, Jeanne is able to use the full strength of her weapons, block and has a boost to all healing abilities. In Spellslinger, dodges can be performed with magic, as well as utilise her Trigger forms’ elements as projectile spells.]**

Nero was the first to move, shifting the heavy weapon into its spear formation with a click of the guard’s barrel. Jeanne caught the attack with the back of Nevan’s handle, forcing Nero’s strike back up into the air. She retaliated by shifting Nevan into her guitar form and summoning numerous waves of bats at the boy, who used his sword form to swipe them away. Nero switched his weapon, reaching for Blue Rose behind him, firing his entire cylinder at her location, only to miss her entirely as she air tricked away, dashing behind Nero to level Nevan’s blade at his throat. Nero rolled under the Devil Arm, switching back to the durandal, driving its tip into the ground and using its handle to swing quickly back around, throwing all his momentum and force into his next strike. The back of Nevan’s scythe blocked his blow, throwing him backwards yet again, Nero landing in the dirt and flying on his butt towards a rock.

He growled in frustration, clenching both of his fists and crying out in frustration. His eyes glowed red as he raised his scaly arm, the red material covering it gaining a soft, blue shine, which was followed by the appearance of a spectral limb twice the size of the original. Nero shoved the open palm of the ghostly arm forward, imitating the motion with his actual body, and Jeanne tricked backwards, avoiding the grasp of the illusory claws. 

Satisfied, she bowed, and with a strum of Nevan’s guitar strings, she vanished. 

“What the hell…” Nero wondered, looking to the sky, then to his right arm.

In the center of his hand was a pool of blue light, shining from either side, the light dimming as the demon’s presence faded. Like a hum in the back of his head, he could sense _something_ wasn’t right, but he couldn’t tell what. Exhaustion then struck him, and Nero decided to gather his coat, hide his mutating appendage, and head back into town.

“If I ever see you again, I’m going to kick your ass seven ways to Sunday.” He declared viciously.

\--------------

 **Tutorial**  
**[Patty has the Punishment ability, at 50% or less health, any time a Devil Trigger is activated her combos will increase in power but at the cost of control and healing. After a Punishment Trigger has ended, Patty will recover health over a period of time until she Triggers again.]**

Dante leapt behind the largest, most ruined log out in the clearing. For the last year and a bit, this tree had acted as his shield from training gunfire, and now the great plant was dead, the wood beginning to hollow out as smouldering rounds, spells and weapons were launched into its drying, thick bark. Patty was still firing her shotguns, then Dante jumped sideways from the tree, using the next one over as a launchpad to throw himself sword first at Patty, the girl ducking under the weapon only to headbutt into Dante’s chest with her Triggered helmet, slamming the hunter back towards the ground with a surprising amount of force. 

Dante got back to his feet in time to trick away from Patty’s short, furious slashes from Chainblader. He evaded her twice more before she released her Trigger and transformed her Devil Arm into a pair of boots with soles made of chains of teeth that could propel her forwards at frightening speed. She flew at Dante, launching off the ground at the last moment to try and slash her feet at the hunter’s face, Dante countering with Rebellion, using the flat side to sweep her legs the opposite direction, causing Patty to tumble away from him.

Patty raised from the dirt slower this time, her Devil Arm retreating to its usual hiding place, and she conceded defeat in less words and more collapsing against Dante’s shoulder, accepting his exhausted congratulations and help in walking back to the car. They stopped at Fredi’s on the way home to consume a pair of sundaes, one strawberry and the other butterscotch with banana slices.

“Gettin’ better with the bullets, Patty-cake. Almost had me.” Dante chuckled in his encouragement, waving his spoon happily at Patty, the girl smiling softly into her next bite of icecream.

“But I want to see you practice every day until Genie calls for us. I’m not throwing you into a demon nest unless you’re ready.” Dante patted her forearm gently, and Patty yawned in response.

“I know, I know,” she blinked some bleariness away from her eyes, “If I’m not ready, I’ll be staying at home.” 

“I only want to protect you, you know that right?” Dante shoved more delicious sweetness into his mouth as Patty remained silent, eating her own sweet treat cautiously. When they returned to the shop, Patty almost fell up the stairs to get to bed, and Dante wasn’t too much better, flopping heavily into his seat at the desk, humming tunelessly as he awaited unconsciousness.

He was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. 

“Devil May Cry.” Dante sighed, putting the receiver to his ear. 

_”Dante, it’s me. I’m in Sweden right now, so I’ll make this short.”_ Trish’s voice came through the speaker with a few crackles, but the urgency in her tone made Dante pay close attention to the incoming report.

 _”I know why the Order is capturing large amounts of demons. They’re preparing something called the Ascension Ceremony - and given the prestige of the demons I’ve been collecting for them,”_ There was a pause, it sounded like Trish was looking for someone around the phone she was using, _”I think they need them for materials. I don’t know if we should drag Patty into this....I have to go. Talk again soon, Dante.”_

Dante could understand the reasoning behind Trish’s concern, but he’d seen first hand the trauma that Sid had caused for Patty. If anything, learning that this crazy cult was planning another ritual like the one that resulted in Nina’s death, then Patty was going to raze the island entirely. 

_”I can’t be sad about losing my mom, I didn’t even know her that well. But I_ am _angry that she died, just because another demon got greedy.”_ Patty had said to him after some time, when she’d finally opened up about the week she’d spent comatose from the sealing Jeanne had performed on her. Abigail had shown her the horrors of devil-kind, how their lust for power drove their wars, and inevitably caused the deaths of millions of humans throughout history. It hadn’t broken her spirit as the demon lord had hoped, it had instead given her more purpose, more drive to kill the monsters that had plagued her a year ago. 

“Awakened to justice,” Dante whispered forlornly, his thoughts turned once again to his brother, when they’d killed Arkham with twin shots from Ebony and Ivory, “If only you had been too.”


	7. Into the fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The timer is ticking down, until all Hell breaks loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, I'm so sorry this took so long. BUT! This chapter is much longer than normal! YAY!
> 
> I hope you're all still enjoying this story, lemme know what you think about it. Thank you so much for reading <3

Jeanne finally saw Trish again, four days after their arrival to Fortuna. The demoness had been sent on several high-level missions to retrieve special demons that had pierced the Veil across the globe. During her return, she informed Jeanne of what she and Lady had encountered both on the island and abroad with the Order of the Sword.

“Lady says that most of the women on the island are married to these Order soldiers.” Trish took another bite of her beef sandwich, Jeanne eating her vegetarian curry carefully, trying to avoid mess on her white clothes.

“More importantly,” Trish hummed, licking her fingers, “It seems Sanctus has everyone’s utmost trust on the island. I don’t think they truly realise the depth of his insanity.” Jeanne grimaced, placing her emptied dish to the side and facing her companion.

“And in three more days, that Ascension Ceremony is going to be held.” Trish stood from her seat on the bed, wiping her outfit down before replacing her gloves and placing a gentle hand on Jeanne’s shoulder, causing the girl to flinch from her concentration.

“We’re running short on time. This is worse than I thought, oh...I’m so stupid.” Jeanne bemoaned, falling backwards into the bedding. She imagined Patty looking down at her, a snide smirk on her features as she basked in one of Jeanne’s few failures.

“Well that’s just it, the timing couldn’t be better. From what Lady and I have gathered,” Trish gave her a knowing smile, “Once they complete the ritual, they’ll be forced to wait a whole week to regain enough materials for their grand scheme. The Yamato isn’t cooperating with Agnus, it’s only giving him residual energy because it’s broken, so if we attacked not long after the Ceremony-” Trish watched with a widening smile as Jeanne regained her composure, sitting up enthusiastically.

“Okay, I understand. Thank you, Trish.” Jeanne watched Trish leave behind the heavy, oaken door as it shut with a soft thud. Not long after she had left, and Jeanne was contemplating leaving again to find Nero, there was a knock on the door. Jeanne turned quickly to face it, only to see the suspicious expression plastered on Strength’s face. He grabbed Jeanne’s wrist swiftly, staring down into her eyes, which took on an otherworldly blue glow that reflected against his face.

“Shhhh, I’m not your enemy, stand down.” Strength said in a thick, English accent. Jeanne rubbed the circulation back into her limb as the man dropped his hold on her. The nephilim gave him another shrewd look, before her eyes returned to their normal state.

“How long have you known?” Jeanne asked quietly, Strength sighed as he dropped his face to the floor.

“As soon as you came to this place, I could feel you from a mile away. Holiness is rather distinct, and you look just like your father.” Jeanne braced, revealing Nevan from under the sheets, never letting Strength leave her sight.

“I understand you’re jumpy,” Strength’s voice wavered, he licked his lips as he continued, trying to assuage the nephilim, “But I’m telling you the truth. My name is Hubert, I was sent here by several churches. Your father, Dante, got your Seed from one of our members.”

There was another lesson Dante and Lady had beaten into hers and Patty’s heads - information was always more valuable than gold. Keep yours as close to your chest as possible so that you won’t get robbed first, let your opponents open up and fall on their own swords before you even open your mouth. Shoot first if you have to, just don’t talk until you’ve seen the entire hand.

So Jeanne obeyed her father, she remained silent, just idly brushing her fingers over Nevan’s strings as she listened to Hubert’s confession; enough of a threat without breaking her vow to never harm humans.

“Look, I’ve been given the order to destroy the entire island if things get out of hand. I don’t know about you, but I want to _avoid genocide_ if at all possible.” Jeanne smiled earnestly, Nevan resting on her lap, and Hubert took a deep breath in relief.

“At least on that, we can agree. However,” Jeanne’s smile turned mildly evil as she revealed a pearly row of teeth, Hubert felt like there were too many to be human. The room dropped a few degrees as Jeanne’s shadow grew over the floor between them, “You’re going to tell me what you know about the Order.”

Hubert cleared his throat, shifting his weight between his feet.

“Well, they wouldn’t know a real demon if it came and slapped them in the face - there’s a boy here that also looks like you, same father?”

“No, but close. Now, Hubert, after the Ascension Ceremony the Devil May Cry Agency is going to launch an attack,” Jeanne explained, Hubert returning to his Strength persona, steely gaze and firm stance, “However, the general population will be a problem. Once we force the Order’s hands, they’ll more than likely open the gates to Hell. If the demons get their greedy hands on enough blood and souls, it will be a big problem.”

“You need to evacuate them.” Hubert surmised. Jeanne nodded, humming in affirmation.

“I could normally cast a Sanctuary spell to protect them, but right now I cannot do this. If I give you the instructions, can you do it for me?” Hubert nodded once, adopting a parade rest pose.

“I can, miss. When shall I return for these instructions?”

“I’ll give them to the lady, Gloria, she’ll find you when she has them. Until then…” Jeanne turned away from the man, ready to transform for her nightly escape, when Hubert touched her wrist again, coughing away his fluster.

“Actually, miss, one more thing, Sanctus has requested that you teach Kyrie Eleison a song for the Day of End Ceremony. Credo will get you early tomorrow morning.” Hubert finished with a bow, then promptly left. Jeanne looked at the space he had once occupied and thought as Nevan’s electricity embraced her, turning her into the grecian siren. Slipping out the side of the headquarters, Jeanne recalled Dante once singing a song for her, during the early days of Patty’s possession. He’d told her that Eva, her grandmother, had sung the song often for him and Vergil, to calm them down when they got too upset.

_“It’s a special song, Genie.” He’d explained, picking up the semi-acoustic guitar from next to the jukebox, strumming it a few times. He motioned for Jeanne to copy him on Nevan, the Devil Arm purring in anticipation. He plucked a few slow arpeggios, and in his sweet, upper tenor began to sing. Patty had returned home just as Dante reached the second verse, and the sour expression she’d been wearing inside the door faded completely, tears welling in the corners of her eyes as she raced to sit next to her sister, leaning on Jeanne’s shoulder as the melody carried through their very souls._

\----------------

“What does this make, round four?” Nero snapped, Jeanne looked at him keenly, twisting Nevan’s scythe form a few times around her shoulders in challenge. 

“Look, whatever,” Nero huffed, falling to the canyon floor exhausted from his training, “I think we both know how this ends. You win, happy?”

To his eyes, the purple-clad demon seemed...disappointed. She changed her scythe for the guitar again, slinging it over her back, and walked slowly towards Nero. He watched her, his right arm aching with a phantom pain. Only a few steps away from him, the demon stopped, marvelling at the bright lights that his fingertips and the back of his palm were emitting. 

“Yeah yeah, I’m a freak, I’m not human.” Nero was deflated, but ever so defensive. A pensive expression came over Jeanne’s face, and she looked to Nero’s eyes, cast aside and watery. She huffed quietly to herself, kneeling beside his arm to inspect it.

“What, you gonna take me to get eaten or something? Isn’t that how you shitty demons work? Picking on the weak?” Nero sat up suddenly, threatening Jeanne briefly with the muzzle of his Blue Rose, before brushing it off and looking to the sky. From this position, Jeanne could see the deep, black bags that plagued Nero’s youthful features.

Jeanne wished, desperately, that she had access to her divine powers. She thought briefly of tearing the seal out prematurely, but that would only cause more problems for their already precarious situation. She looked at Nero, on the verge of tears and tired beyond belief, and a memory flashed of her father in a similar state, when Jeanne had been plaguing his sleep with her soul divinations. Could the Yamato have caused this, like it had caused the vision of Vergil?

Nero stood up, picking up his jacket and durandal from their places on the ground. He stretched sleepily, sagging his shoulders forward as he prepared for his trek back toward home from the hidden canyon. Just as he stepped away, Jeanne conjured up all the stolen memories she had of her uncle, concentrating her magic and energy into a single transformation. Nero’s arm lit up for a moment, gold glowing in the gap between his elbow and wrist, and he visibly shuddered. He turned slowly, coming to face the man that haunted his dreams.

His eyes widened, dropping all his held items. He stumbled towards Jeanne in her disguise, the illusion of Vergil pushing his outstretched hand aside with the saya of the Yamato. 

“Who...Are you?” Nero choked out. The illusory Vergil gave him a sneer.

“A son of Sparda,” The image spoke in that nasal tone that rang around Dante’s head on occasion, “Never runs from his heritage. Don’t be like my foolish brother.” The image was gone in a flash, the haughty expression on Vergil’s features forever burnt into Nero’s memory. Ever since the dreams had begun, there’d been no face, only a voice and blue coat. Nero looked at the demon incredulously.

“That guy! Have you seen him before?” Nero pleaded, gesturing at Jeanne wildly. 

Jeanne returned Nero’s intensity with a blank stare, strumming Nevan once, escaping in a cluster of lightning bats to the background of Nero’s scream. 

“FUCKING DAMMIT!”

\-------------

Agnus was not a leader, and he never would be one. People didn’t like him, but the scientist didn’t care. He was, however, extremely frustrated at the progress of his research. Even before the Yamato, Agnus had made several artificial demons for Arius, and using this concept he made suits of armour that fitted Sanctus’ ideal of an angel, the Bianco Angelos. Now with the Yamato, he could increase their intelligence and power beyond that he could achieve with only the Hellgates, but the brokenness of the sword prevented him from advancing further.

Agnus was marking out another summoning rune to place in Fortuna Castle, when Credo appeared behind him.

“His Holiness wants to know the progress on the ritual preparations.”

Agnus felt his irritation creep up his spine like a spider demon. He wiped his gloved hand down his face, groaning, as he faced the captain of the guard.

“It’s all ready when he is. But that’s not all, is it Credo?”

“Why is the Yamato still incomplete?” Credo responded flatly, looking at the sword through its capsule of glass, the Oodachi rotating slowly in a shower of blue light.

“I d-d-don’t know! I-I-I’ve put everything I can into it and it-t-t-t...Eludes me.” Agnus hated it when he stuttered, it made him seem like a simpleton and unable to control himself. Credo cast him a sideways glance, sighed, and straightened his shoulders.

“Hopefully, the Son of Sparda can repair it.” Agnus snorted.

“And when _is_ he supposed to be here?” 

“Gloria seems convinced that she can bring him here personally, and His Holiness trusts her to that end. She _did_ steal the Sparda for us, after all.” Credo excused himself, leaving Agnus to his storm of note papers and mess of equipment.

There was something odd about Gloria for the scientist, like she was one of his Bianco Angelos, except there was a clear distinction in power between her and his created angels. When he’d first met her, the woman had seemed odd, and her ability to bring in demons solo...It made him wonder. He’d heard rumours through his various research subjects of the following the Son of Sparda had attracted; at least three of the longer lived demons he’d experimented upon had mentioned a turncoat among Mundus’ generals joining with the traitor’s son. Agnus filed the thought for later.

There was a buzz on his console, near the fabled Devil Arm. 

Again, another sporadic burst of increased power! He watched eagerly as the monitor on his computer lit up with another graphic, more storage crystals had been filled with the Yamato’s energy. Soon, they should have enough to power the portal generator in the Savior. Fifteen years of planning and constant searching for their energy sources, and finally Agnus’ alchemy would reach its height, and none would ever surpass it. Truthfully, the scheming scientist was disappointed in the loss of his greatest source of research, however, without the same subjects to research, Agnus would gain his place in history as the authority on the science of damnation. 

It was reward enough, he supposed.

\---------------

“...I’m telling you! It wasn’t **my** fault! He just-”

“ENOUGH!”

“You’re getting what you deserve, freak.”

It was lucky for the kid that Dante chose that moment to burst in, covered in spatters of black blood and other viscera, looking decidedly tired at the scene. Patty looked fine, but there was the tell-tale buzz of demonic healing around her abdomen and arms, and the boy was currently nursing a sprained arm. Seeing Dante slumped over, yawning, and three seconds away from snapping angrily at the principal, the elderly man began his spiel.

“Mr Redgrave, you have to-”

Dante made a noise that was in no way human, and shut the principal up instantly. Everyone in the room watched, as Dante grabbed Patty out of her seat, none too gently, and glared at the boy for a moment, gauging something. 

“You,” Dante shoved his chin in the kid’s direction, “You know Patty is only ten, right?”

That seemed to floor the boy, as he looked up and down Patty’s height. Sure, she had a good head and shoulders above her peers, but not by choice. The principal coughed, squirming awkwardly in his seat, the leather squeaking loudly amidst the silence.

“Alright, here’s the deal. I’m taking Patricia and Jeanne out of this hell-hole of a school, and you’re not pressing any charges. Are we clear?”

“Mr Redgrave-!” The principal’s words faded into a whimper under Dante’s intense, red gaze. Patty felt deeply ashamed by all this, really. All because she’d been unable to control herself. Her face turned red, eyes watering and fists shaking as she fought an internal war. Dante kept his iron grip on her shoulders, his warmth surrounding her entire body from behind. With no further protests, Dante shoved Patty out of the room and told her to gather anything of hers and Jeanne’s, sulking with his hands in his pockets back towards the entrance. Patty ran back to her locker, grabbing the handfuls of stationery she stored there, and then picked up the only two notebooks Jeanne ever seemed to own, shoving them into her backpack.

In the corvette, Dante sank low into his seat, focused on the road away from the school. Patty flung herself into the passenger side of the front, the hunter driving in silence back to their shop. They sat for a few minutes in the garage, Dante just looking at Patty sadly as the girl burst into tears, hugging her back close to her chest.

“What happened, Patty-cake?” Dante encouraged his daughter back into the main part of Devil May Cry, easing her into a seat and slowly removing his mucked clothes. 

“I...Hnnnng,” Patty wailed, more hot, fresh tears streaking her face. Dante, now half-undressed, gave her a saddened but understanding smile. He brushed away her tears with his thumbs, then lifted his clothes and himself off the couch.

“While you put yourself back together, I’ll get cleaned up. Get some water into you, you’ll feel better.” Patty nodded weakly, leaving for the upstairs kitchen on wobbly feet. She drank three glasses at the sink, before taking a fourth back downstairs, waiting for her father on the main floor. 

“Derek cornered me again!” Patty cried out over the running water, knowing full-well that Dante would hear her every word.

“He treats me like a thing! Like I don’t feel his words! He said that Jeanne only pities me, that she doesn’t care about an adopted sister, and that I’m the real weirdo for living with two white-haired freakshows!” Patty was sobbing again, her glass spilling water from the shakes of her hand. The shower had stopped, and Dante was peering out from behind the bathroom door in fresh pants and a shirt. When a golden-coated fist smashed the glass in her hand, Patty yelped and Dante stepped forward, forcing Abigail down with his stronger demonic presence. 

“Patricia Katherine, what’s your last name?” It took Patty a few of the same prompts to reply, due to the ferocity of her meltdown. Once her breathing evened out enough to speak, she responded.

“L-Lowell-Redgrave.”

“Correct. Now, what do you suppose that means?” Dante waggled his eyebrows, and Patty snorted a sad laugh.

“We’re family.” Dante flashed her a bright smile, pulling her into a gentle hug. 

“Exactly. Now, do you want to gorge yourself on icecream?” Patty slapped Dante’s arms away, nagging him about his eating habits, lamenting how even she was now mildly addicted to the taste of pizza. 

“Do you think Jeanne’s okay? Ohhhh...she’s going to be so mad about school…” Patty’s face fell again, and Dante patted her upper arm gingerly, comforting his daughter.

“I think Jeanne will be more upset that she wasn’t here for this. And yeah, she’s probably fine, I mean, I _did_ train her.”

“TRAIN?!” Patty yelled indignantly, shooting up from the couch, “YOUR idea of training is to **attack US** until we knock you on your ass!”

“You act like that isn’t realistic!” Dante defended, mocking hurt, “What, is a big ol’ demon just gonna sit still and let you go through a _kata_?”

Patty punched him in the arm, Dante chuckled in earnest. 

\-------------

Lady had been on the island for two days, sifting through the hovel that once belonged to Arkham. On the outer side of the city, the squat, four-roomed house had been abandoned for a number of years, and it smelled of must and wasted efforts. If the huntress had to thank him for one thing, it was the thoroughness of his notes. Arkham had been lured to this island by the fables of demons told to him by the beautiful Kalina Ann, whose family had fled the theocracy some time before that. 

Inserted between ramblings of a lunatic, had been diagrams and studies on various demonic power sources and their strengths. Added to the inside knowledge that Trish had acquired from the Order’s upper echelon, they’d managed to scrape together a rough timeline of events down to a matter of days. 

The one concerning factor was Nero.

Suppose Nero _was_ able to mend the Yamato, would he turn into another Vergil? By Jeanne’s account, Nero was...kinder than his father, but many wolves hid their fangs behind woollen hats of kindness - and Lady had seen with her own eyes the kind of madness that newfound power drove men into. For Lady, a lot hung on Nero’s shoulders, to prove to her that he was nothing like his father, that she could trust him like she did Dante: enough not to get her killed.

Lady looked once more to the statuette of Sparda on the end of the kitchen counter, then returned to her cleaning of Jeanne’s rifle.


End file.
